Forever Isn't Far
by elizaaschmidt
Summary: And for the most part the kids of Beacon Hills knew to stay on the East side of the beach, away from his portion of it. Stiles, apparently, did not.
1. Chapter 1 - Trespasser

**A/N: **So here we have something that I'm writing with an amazing friend of mine, Gaby, who can be found on ao3 under lilting! We've also put this story up on there if you prefer that. Seeing as I have the pressure of working with someone else for this fic I'll be motivated to actually continue instead of giving up... Anyway, have fun I suppose?  


* * *

**Chapter One - Trespasser**

Derek knew that coming out to the reserve every day was no longer a necessity. There hasn't been a forest fire in months, and for the most part the kids of Beacon Hills knew to stay on the East side of the beach, away from his portion of it and the forest that the unkempt sand backed onto. Regardless, chances were that you could probably find him monitoring the activity of the area surrounding his old home on a daily basis, only absent on days when Laura became too fed up and all but dragged him by the tail off these grounds to entertain her.

At least that was why she said she was doing it; Derek theorized that she couldn't handle seeing him hover, and as she said, relentlessly pouting over a reckless mistake he made when he was seventeen. Which he absolutely was not. At all. Whatsoever. He was just being precocious, making sure that nothing similar was to ever happen again. And besides, even though they now shared their apartment which permanently smelled of old books and coffee, located just a few minutes away from what the locals called Beacon Hills' "downtown", (Derek had looked up the dictionary definition of downtown when he was putting off some paperwork, it was a far stretch to call the few antique shops and a single family restaurant a downtown) it didn't quite feel like home.

Home to him was the rush of water when it reached an inch further than usual up the grainy sand and brushed the base of his feet. It was the sound of silence that rang through his ears every time he lost himself in the thick of the ancient woods, the green sea of trees simultaneously blending and standing apart in their individuality. Home was family, and sure, that meant Laura, but it also meant the memories and quiet ghosts of the rest of his relatives that drifted in the air surrounding where he was raised.

He, against Laura's half-hearted protests, had not sold the property, and instead made up a small haven for himself in the charred remains of the Hale house. An always stocked mini fridge, a single worn out couch, his television, and a small, but mighty sound system that he could hook up his iPod to was all he felt he needed to bring in once he found himself spending increasing amounts of time in the area.

It had become somewhat of an informal routine for him to take his lunch break in the makeshift living room, watching reruns of Bones while Magyyuk, his two year old husky-lab cross whom weighed more than any human should have to support, lounged across him; because apparently the dog bed sitting on the other side of the room just wasn't meeting her outlandishly high standards. The episode that was playing softly in the background had been coming to a close, but if questioned, Derek wouldn't have been able to recall what the episode was about, as both of them had fallen half asleep in the midday August heat. At this point during the day, Derek would usually consider getting back to work, but the opportunity was stolen from him as Magyyuk pounced, racing to catch something or someone and on instinct, Derek grabbed his gun, muttering a quick, "goddamn kids," before running after her.

Derek heard the voice before he caught up to his dog. A soft male voice who's tone was rapidly rising into a fit of panic as it tried to calm Magyyuk down. Derek readied his rifle, habitual after countless occasions of having to scare off the hormone ridden teenagers of Beacon Hills from attempting to take, what they claimed were 'long romantic walks', on his property. He flinched, remembering the sumer before last when he discovered first hand just how inaccurate the description of their actions often turned out to be.

"Hey puppy, it's ok, it's just me and Spike taking a walk. I'm not going to hurt you, please don't hurt me," the last few words were rushed together in a breathless state of fear as a figure, his Magyyuk, who was defending their territory on her haunches, growling through bared teeth, and a third dog, began forming through the trees some feet away.

Walking into the boys line of sight, Derek nearly laughed at the scene. The unfamiliar dog was cowering between the strangers legs, ears flattened, a small whine escaping its throat. As he glanced up from Magyyuk to Derek, his young features (that couldn't place him at anything older than sixteen), jumped from terror to relief, presumably because someone had arrived with claim over the still-growling husky mix, and then, inexplicably, horror, all in a split second.

If Derek wasn't still in pain from where Magyyuk pushed off him, crushing his chest, he would have assumed that he was dreaming, or having a nightmare, for that matter, because there was no way it was possible for just one face to carry so much expression. Before Derek could even question the kid, he dropped to the ground, his long, not-yet-Californian-tanned hands spread across his face, leaving only enough room for his eyes to peer out of as he pleaded with Derek.

"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, puh-lease do not shoot me. I have a dad, he's really lovely guy behind his sometimes terrifying and excessively calculating interrogation eyes, and I can guarantee that if I was to get murdered right now he would go honest to god _psychotic_ over the fact that he didn't get to have the honour of strangling me with his own hands first."

Oh. Right. He was kind of still holding a hunter's rifle. One which happened to be poised to shoot. Something which tended to send people into a state of fear. Lowering it, he stepped closer to Magyyuk, motioning for her to relax. He stared at the teenager, who's face was now planted in the dirt, and momentarily crouched down beside him. "Get up."

The boy cautiously raised his head and made his way up from the ground, attempting to both brush himself off and grab hold of his dogs leash at once. Now that Derek had a chance to look closely he realized that his past assumption were wrong and that the boy was probably only a few years younger than himself. Somewhere from seventeen to nineteen, perhaps.

Although, he noted, at least one of his first assessments was correct, the boys arms being undeniably still just as pale as when Derek first saw them. Not a bad pale though. And even if they were a bad pale their notable overall niceness would make up for it. Not that he was staring, or admiring, or anything like that.

The boy finally composed himself enough to string together a somewhat coherent sentence, "So, uh, can I help y- I mean, is there a problem, er. That's a nice gu-"

"Do you know where you are?" Derek stared straight at a pair wide hazel eyes, mostly in order to put on his default threatening glare which he had perfected over the years of warning trespassers that it would be in their best interest to keep their distance, but also just slightly because staring prevented him from accidentally letting his own gaze to travel any further (because it didn't matter that this trespasser had just made it onto Derek's 'Top Ten Most Attractive Actual Male Beings' list, he was still somewhere he shouldn't be and that meant choosing intimidation over appreciation - not that it had been an option, but-).

"No, uh, not really. I was just taking Spike for a walk through the trails, Spike's this guy, by the way," he motioned to the dog sitting beside him as, a grin which seemed almost too wide for his mouth took over, before he recalled the whole being-threatened bit, "and I guess I don't remember them as well as I thought I did. I'm sort of new around here, or well, not really new, but we just came back to Beacon Hills and well, I haven't even been here to visit for a while a-"

"Clearly." Derek knew the faces of the kids who made a habit of wandering onto his land, and this wasn't one of them. "I'm asking you now if you know that _you_ are on _my_ property." Derek almost felt bad when he could watch the colour drain from the kid's face. "Look," he sighed. "I just don't like kids messing around here. Private place, you know?"

He wondered if one could break their neck by nodding it too enthusiastically. Probably, but whoever this was had already proved their ability to express the impossible, and Derek supposed that having more flexibility than a bobble head was yet another one of his useless, still, amusing, talents.

"Right, yeah, completely fine with that. This body," he said as he waved his arms across the expanse of his figure, "these atoms? Never gonna be seen anywhere near this property you've got yourse- Wait. Kid? I mean, I know I look a little younger but that's, that's a bit cruel. I'm a fully fledged eighteen year old, fresh graduate of that hell some people have nicknamed high-school. Which makes me capable of doing responsible, adult things. Like voting. And drinking. In two whole Canadian provinces, and probably all of Europe. Probably. Actually, forget the probably. Definitely. Definitely all of Europe." He crossed his arms over his chest, the once apologetic look slid into an offended glare, as his dog huffed out a breath, taking a similar, frozen stance.

Derek's eyes flicked questioningly between the dog, Spike, as the boy called him, and the teenager himself; he couldn't quite decide which of the two looked more ridiculous. Regardless of the winner, it was clear that neither the dog or the boy posed as a real threat. Therefore, just before opening his mouth in an attempt to respond, Derek subconsciously passed the weapon he had been holding from one arm to the other, as his right side had begun to tense up from carrying the weight. Not surprisingly, the movement was caught by the eyes of the boy, and being misinterpreted, Derek lost any chance to speak, the interruption coming from the look of panic that once again returned to the boy's face.

"Shit, oh yeah, you're kind of the one with the gun here. Um, I'll just, you know, be on my way then!" He scrambled to get a grip on Spike's leash again and gave a half hearted wave as he began jogging backwards, (as fluidly as one could while covered in wet sand with a dog running laps around them) towards the public area of beach. "It was... nice to meet you- um,"

"Derek."

"Right, cool. Derek," he stopped for a moment, the dogs leash unreasonably tangled around his legs by this point, "I'm Stiles by the way; Stilinski!"

Derek watched as his, Stiles', figure turned around and unwound itself from the mess before sprinting away. The name Stilinski rang in his head for no reason that Derek could fathom. He'd heard or read it _somewhere_ before, but stupidly didn't put the puzzle together until Laura wouldn't stop laughing at him for having 'threatened' the new sheriff's son.

It was hours later, back in their apartment as they talked over Thai takeout, boxes scattered between them. Derek was unable to shake the curiosity from earlier that day, and after spending a few more unsuccessful hours than he would ever admit, searching through old editions of Beacon Hills' phonebooks for the name, 'Stilinski,' he decided to casually mention the name to Laura.

Much to Derek's disappointment though, she saw right through him, and continued to pester him for the majority of the night. Eventually (after she threatened to eat the rest of his sesame chicken, despite being a vegetarian-or at least making yet another one of her numerous attempts at it) he caved, and gave her the shortest possible summary of what had happened earlier in the day.

Evidently, Laura did know who the Stilinski kid was.

"You probably scared," Laura said between giggles, "the poor boy, absolutely shitless with your ever-incredible impersonation of Carl Fredricksen."

"I don't even know who that is, Laura."


	2. Chapter 2 - Unteach

**Chapter Two - You Can't Unteach A Cheeky Dog Meddlesome Tricks**

_Incoming Call:_

_Princess Hale_

Derek stared at his phone screen, silently willing it to spontaneously combust. Because, really Laura? Princess Hale? How she ever managed to switch that without him noticing was far beyond him. He debated internally as it rang, weighing his options, either he could pick up the phone and have the conversation, or more likely, lecture, or ignore it and face the consequences. Not picking up would mean not having to deal with Laura's ... Laura-ness, but then there was always the chance that she would keep calling until he finally caved. He doubted his ability to hold off her repetitive calling for much longer, because apparently she had found a way to set up a personal ringtone as well, and he had already heard the low quality recording of -BOOM BOOM BOOM! I WANT YOU IN MY ROOM! - once. He wasn't sure his already fragile sanity would snap over hearing it again. What frightened him even more was the thought that she may not even try calling again, and instead resort to lower measures. Measures which consisted of her showing up and confronting him in person. Derek didn't shudder. He didn't.

On top of that, a small part of him acknowledged that he could probably go for listening to something aside form the sound of Magyyuk panting endlessly. He had been away from human contact for a few too many hours than considered healthy. Releasing an anxious sigh, Derek picked up the call.

"My beloved, admired, beauteous, Princess Hale, what an honour it is, truly, to receive a personal call from your highness," he said, attempting to put on a sarcastic tone, but failing as his smirk slipped through into his voice.

"Your attempts at denial are pathetic. You love it."

"Love is a little strong, let's not push it. How do I make it go back?"

Laura let out a bark of laughter, "There's this thing called Google. Not sure if you've heard of it before, it's pre-"

"I hate you," he stopped her before she had the chance to go on about his technical disabilities. "What did you need anyway?"

"Are you accusing me of needing an ulterior motive to call you? I just wanted to talk to my brother. That saddens me, you know, it pulls at my heartstrings, cuts at my feelings, it twists my hea-"

"Yeah, Laura. I live with you, you talk to me more than enough."

"Wait, are you sure I've reached the right Derek Hale? Because I swear the one I know practically lives in a shack in the woods, not with me. He's graduated to hermit status now." Derek could hear her giggling at what she thought were clearly ingenious comments. "But really, I just want someone to come hold my bags while I shop, I'm so _boooored_."

Derek stayed silent for a moment, trying to appear as if he was actually considering her proposal. "I have a lot of work to do out here on the reserve, Laura, I really can't."

It was not the best excuse he'd ever come up with.

"Alright, that is officially the biggest pile of bullshit I've ever heard you say. I mean- seriously? Work out on the reserve? I probably know better than anyone that there's jack to do there. And really, Der, what are you even spending all of your time doing?" She quieted a bit, her tone turned from somewhat frustrated to sympathetic; probably just to throw him off, "You're actually going to kill yourself by pushing this so far. It's not healthy! You didn't even come home last night! I know you don't have a bed there-"

Derek attempted to speak over her, trying to put a little more effort into his excuse, but Laura raised her voice both in volume and pitch and Derek quieted down, knowing full well he didn't stand a chance.

"-And don't you dare try the whole 'you spent the night with someone' crap with me because I would absolutely be able to tell if you finally started to take interest in someone or just people in general again," Her nervousness was almost tangible, even over the phone. He wanted to do or say something to make it better, really, but it wouldn't have worked. That was just Laura. She worried about him; it was her way of dealing with, well, everything. He hummed and hawed a bit, trying to fill up the silence without words.

"Derek, just... I want you to be okay, I'm concerned with how much time you spend out there, it, it freaks me out a bit. I know you, I know you spend time there when things get... bad. But you have me, right. I just- I can't stand being there so I don't know why you- I mean, are you even _eating_? That mini fridge can't be doing all that much for you, and I'd bet good money you haven't left the house long enough to go buy food." She took Derek's lack of response as a silent yes, which okay- it was true, but in his defense he had simply forgotten to eat. It didn't have anything to do with not wanting to leave.

"I'm ordering you a pizza. End of story."

"I'm completely capable of ordering my own food, Laura."

"Mhmm, capable sure, but that doesn't mean you're going to. And please, do your best not to shoot the delivery kid. Just because you got yourself a big shiny gun doesn't mean you have to go waving it around at every single person who does so much as breathe near you."

If nobody is around to see something happen, it didn't. Therefore, since Laura isn't there to see his cheeks bloom red and he doesn't have a mirror, by extended logic, they didn't.

* * *

"Deaton, please, I need more hours."

Derek was honestly trying to listen to Laura and her twisted advice, even if it was only to get her off of his back. Which is how he found himself at Beacon Hills' animal clinic, begging his boss for an extra shift or two. Clearly though, if Deaton's apologetic look was anything to go by, that wasn't going to happen.

"You know I would love to, Derek, but there are only so many shifts I have to give out."

"And you only give me what, four to six hours a week? That's even less than the part time employees." Deaton stared him down for a moment, Derek already aware of what he was going to say next.

"Which makes sense. Because if you can remember, you're not actually an employee." A little huff of exasperation escapes Derek. "Look, you're the one who refuses to let me pay you for your work, it's your own fault that I can only give you volunteer hours. Are you even aware that there are actual employees who need actual money? They tend to come first when I'm trying to split shifts." Deaton rolls his eyes right back at Derek. "You know, a year ago, if someone had told me I'd be turning down free labour here, I would have laughed. Hard."

"'_I don't pay you._' he says," Derek mocks Deaton. "As if I'm not completely aware of the fact that you slip complimentary dog treats into my things when I'm not looking."

"If you genuinely believe that twenty-five cent dog treats are a form of payment I'm concerned for your health."

Derek mumbled incoherently for a moment, momentarily defeated. Then deciding to make one last attempt, he spoke up, "There must be something you need done. Anything. I'll clean cages. Or organize folders. I will literally dress up in that Corgi costume I know you have sitting in the back and stand outside, encouraging people to come in."

"Well," Derek's eyes widened at Deaton's change of heart, suddenly regretting his last choice set of words. "I suppose Rose and Panther could use a walk." Relief.

Wait.

Oh no.

Oh, no. No, no no.

Any remaining sliver of hope left in Derek's chest deserted him quickly and efficiently as his boss finished talking, and he was just about to protest when he watched as Deaton raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't believe that Derek could hold back from complaining. Because on any other day, he would have. Walking those two Bernese Mountain dogs was no doubt more challenging than the hypothetical task of walking Cerberus, ("Hellhounds, Deaton. These creatures are honest to God worse than _hellhounds_,") his opinion on them being made clear to the entirety of the staff due to the numerous occasions of which he has returned from their walks, covered in dirt, cuts, and sweat.

No, today was not going to be a day for manipulating his way out of the job. Derek was fully aware that a second chance wasn't striding it's way across the horizon towards him anytime soon if he turned the walk down. It looked like going at this with full force was his only option. Derek could do this. He could walk two Bernese Mountain puppies. He could even bring Magyyuk along to keep them in order. He was a grown man. Grown men walk full grown puppies. Even hellhounds.

That plan lasted all of five point five seconds.

With one last parting look at Deaton he brushed past the man and into one of the back rooms. That was when he noticed Scott. Nobody ever said Derek wasn't an evil genius.

"Oh, Scott," Derek put on his best casual voice, "I was just looking for you. Deaton wanted me to take over your work for a bit, get a break in for you? Rose and Panth need a walk, so you know where the devi- puppies are," he forced a smile and walked over to the side of the room Scott was on, thinking that perhaps if his acting wasn't convincing enough he could just loom over the boy, making him uncomfortable enough to leave of his own will.

"Ummm..." Scott looked up into Derek's much-too-close-and-much-too-happy face, "Not. Deaf. I kinda heard your whole conversation with Deaton like ten seconds ago? So yeah, I'm pretty sure that seeing as I'm the only legitimate employee in this room I rank highest? Soooo, that kinda makes you the sucker who gets to walk the dogs!"

The smirk plastered on Derek's face vanished, "Scott."

"Derek," Scott imitated.

"Scott." Derek repeated, instating his best serial killer face.

"De...aton?" Scott backed up against the shiny steel counter then, looking helpless, and only slightly puppy-ish.

"_Doctor Scott_!"

Both Derek and Scott whipped around to turn to Deaton, who had just walked into the room. Equally confused, blank stares appeared the faces of the younger men, who were unsure of what to make of the screech that slipped from their... boss? really? their boss? Deaton, by no means someone who even looked like they could make his voice so high pitched, and his eyes so wide, and his smile so, creepy, had made _that_ noise? _Deaton_?!

"Are you two serious right now? Rocky Horror Picture... No? Seriously? It was just _sitting_ there. The reference was per-" The man wiped his hand across his face before turning out of the room, muttering to himself, "That's it. Whole new staff. Top of my to do list."

Derek and Scott exchanged worried looks.

* * *

So he ended up walking the dogs.

He was wrong. Grown men don't walk hellhounds. Lucifer doesn't even walk his hellhounds. Hellhounds don't get walked. _And for good reason_, Derek thought as he stepped over Rose's leash, which for the third time was between his thighs. He glared at her, sure she was doing it on purpose, and unsure of how she'd managed it. It wasn't as if she was the one running circles around him, that was Panther. Rose was the sluggish of the two sibling puppies. Probably the evil mastermind.

He was nearing the beach now, he realized belatedly. Most of his focus had gone into not falling on his face, and not where he was going. He figured that he might as well take scenic route though, if anything just so the demons could get dirty and full of sand, which would force Scott to bathe them when he returned.

The sun was beginning to set, letting Derek know that it was probably somewhere around half past seven. In a little bit, this would be normally his favourite time to be by the water. He'd walk along the length of the East side until he got to his property, and just pace barefoot in the sand, still warm because of the beating it took all day from the sun. He'd stay out there until Magyyuk came and nosed at his legs, begging to get her food, or on some occasions he would even fall asleep, only waking up once the tide came up to grab at his feet.

Of course, he wan't normally accompanied by two buckets of drool. He had them on such a short leash he wondered if he might as well be grabbing them by the collar; but he wasn't about to complain, as he had one on each side and they were actually walking, for once not dragging him. _Small miracles_, Derek thought. Magyyuk had been no help though. In fact, Derek noticed, as he drew his attention away from the animals he clung to, that she wasn't even around.

Which was weird, because, you know, she was supposed to be helping him control the puppies. (Any dog that wasn't as aptly trained as Magyyuk, was a puppy. No matter the age of the dog, if Derek couldn't converse with him- puppy.) Exasperated, he glanced over the beach and saw her, sprawled across someone's towel, while the stranger looked on with a bemused expression plastered across her face.

Before he could call out to her, and apologise for the overbearing air of smugness coming from his dog, she lunged toward some other figures in the distance. The groan that came from his chest wasn't human.

"Come on, you big bastards," Derek sighed dramatically, muttering to the puppies while he dragged Rose's face out of the sand and Panther's attention away from a frightened looking pair of teenagers. He began the trek towards the stranger and their dog, currently being forced into paying attention to Magyyuk.

The boy was crouched down to her level, and was attempting to read Magyyuk's tags as she and his dog jumped around each other excitedly for no discernible reason. He wondered how much bad luck would be handed out to him today when he realised who it was that Magyyuk had so quickly recognised.

"May-guck? My-ick? My-yuck?" Derek could hear Stiles struggling over the Magyyuk's name. "Can I just call you Maggie?" And Magyyuk, clearly out of her senses, barked once at him, sounding pleased that the boy had given her a ridiculously common nickname.

Derek, at that point, thought it might be beneficial to announce his presence, since he had managed to catch up to them. "Her name is pronounced Mah-gee-yuk." At that, the dog in question scurried to his right side and sat, as if she had been behaving all along. He looked at her, and Derek watched as her ears flattened. He kept staring at the dog, ignoring Stiles, who had fallen on his butt in surprise, until she slowly turned to look him in the eyes. Seeing his hardened expression, she opened her mouth a little and fell back on the puppy-dog look that he would never admit melted his heart into a big gooey pink mess. Class A bitch.

Forgiven class A bitch. She moved away from him again and he switched his gaze to Stiles, who was brushing his own ass repeatedly in what Derek presumed was an attempt to get the damp sand off of it. He looked away, focusing on keeping his grip firm on Panther, who was towering over Stiles' dog while Rose was sniffed at it's behind.

"Sorry," Derek mumbled, "She must have recognised you from the other day and since I'd given her free reign, decided you should have the pleasure of meeting her on neutral territory." He watched Magyyuk nose Spike (what an unfortunate name) out of Panther and Rose's reach, silently baring her teeth at the big bumbling idiots.

"Maggie!" Stiles exclaimed happily. "Don't even worry about it. She's great when she's not absolutely terrifying, you know!"

Derek raised a brow at the nickname.

"She really is. Much friendlier," Stiles insisted.

Derek let it go. Stiles didn't get it. He clearly wasn't about the let the nickname go.

"So who are these big guys?" Stiles gestured the two dogs on either side of Derek.

"This is Rose, and Panther," he said, gesturing at the two of them. "They're Burmese Mountain puppies."

"Aren't puppies, usually, um, smaller?" Stiles asked, smirking. He bent down again to address Panther, "Though you are a bit small for a panther. Maybe you are a puppy. Though panthers are big cats. You're not a cat." Derek wondered if Stiles was on something. "Is he having an identity crises?" Stiles looked up at him, straight faced. Derek shifted uncomfortably under the stare.

"It's just a name, I didn't even pick it." Stiles didn't bat an eye and turned back to Panther.

"Well it's dumb." He turned to Rose, who was slowly beginning to show an interest in Stiles, instead of staring wistfully at a nearby hotdog stand.

Derek couldn't handle the irony, "How is the name Panther any worse than the name Spike?" he drew out the name as long as he could. Stiles stood up in mock offence, the expanse of his right hand crossing his chest.

"I'll have you know Spike is a fantastic name for a Boston Terrier like my own. I mean, just look at his e..." Stiles turned to point at empty air, obviously having meant to at Spike, but Spike was missing.

Magyyuk had weaselled the leash out of Stile's hand and was taking Spike to the hotdog stand. People were taking pictures. Derek's dog would become an internet meme again. Ugh. That was fun for all of three point five minutes when it happened before, last fall. Derek didn't want a reappearance of the tourists who wanted pictures with Magyyuk. They hadn't practiced voice mimicking since then. Or the 'Magyyuk-walks-other-dogs' trick, but clearly, it was still engraved in her memory. He wasn't even sure how she still remembered how to lead other dogs by their leash, but then again, he was always forgetting the stunts he taught her until she used it against him in instances like this one. He really should stop showing Magyyuk things altogether.

Then again, even if he did stop teaching her, she would probably find a way to train herself. She was too intelligent for Derek's own good.

Derek knew that he could call Magyyuk back at any given moment with a whistle, but instead he chose to sit grab a seat at an empty picnic bench and watch her pull Stiles along. It was too damn entertaining to give up just yet. Besides, Stiles looked good from behind.

Hey, it was summer, Derek couldn't blame Stiles for wearing a shirt thin enough to rival bible paper. His ass in shorts wasn't terrible either. And Derek wasn't staring. Much, at least.

A few minutes later, after Derek secured Panther and Rose's leashes to the bench where he was sitting, Magyyuk, Spike, and Stiles, who was somehow balancing eight hotdogs, made their way over. Stiles all but collapsed onto the bench beside him. He immediately handed over four of the hotdogs to Derek, while he explained, in between breaths, that they had been complimentary of the man running the stand. Apparently he had had clutched his side in a fit of laughter when Magyyuk forced Spike and Stiles up to his booth, only stopping to sit up and beg. He'd insisted he'd never seen a dog work so hard for them.

Stiles picked up their conversation from before, insisting that Spike was a fantastic name, while Derek mostly at in silent defiance. "Seriously! His ears! They are _spikes_. And it starts with an S, so it's funny, because it's my dog, and we're Stiles and Spike." Derek made a face. "It _IS_."

"I know performing arts stage names," Laura had dabbled in theatre while in high school, he'd heard a few ridiculous names, nothing to warrant such an adamant knowledge, but Stiles' didn't know that, "and that's what it sounds like. Spike equals stage performer. Not dog." He took a bite after making his point. Talking so much all at once made him hungry.

Stiles had the widest, shit eating grin on his face, and Derek briefly wondered if he had put something in his food. He continued chewing anyways. If Stiles wanted to drug and kidnap Derek, Derek was very much okay with that.. "I've never actually heard of an actor with the stage name _Spike_, Derek. Unless I'm not thinking of the same performers you clearly know so much about."

Derek choked. Stiles propped his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. "Please, Derek, please tell me more about these performers." Derek could feel his face burning. He swallowed his food down without taking another bite, and while he thought he noticed a look of discomfort cross Stiles' face briefly, but he was a little more concerned about getting air to his lungs, his eyes having started tearing up from the lack of oxygen. Apparently not chewing before swallowing hard wasn't a brilliant idea.

Once he recovered, and after blinking the water away from his vision, he could see that Stiles' grin had returned. It reminded him of the look which his own dog had worn earlier as she laid across that strangers towel: incredibly smug and annoyingly secure.

Stile's face _dropped_ though, when Magyyuk suddenly pounced on his chest, threw him off the bench, nabbed his remaining hot dog, and ran off with it.

And then Derek was the one with the shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

* * *

"Deaton?" Derek called out. "Where's Scott?"

The reply came with a hint of amusement in it's tone. "He went home at least an hour ago."

Derek looked down on the Bernese Mountain dogs. The two, sandy, dirty, smelly, _grinning_, Bernese Mountain dogs, and his brain just. broke.


End file.
